Episode 15: A Deadly Mixup
by Castle Season 9
Summary: A bakery murder piques Castle's culinary interest, while Esposito faces a tough personal challenge. Season 9, Episode 15.
1. Chapter 1

**A Deadly Mixup**

Season 9, Episode 15

Written by skygirl55

 _This is a work of fiction by writers with no professional connection to ABC network's Castle. Recognizable characters are the property of Andrew Marlowe and ABC. Names, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental._

* * *

Carlo Moretti shivered as he jammed his key into the lock of the gate barricading the bakery's front entrance. The damp chill of the early morning seeping through his pores and into his bones made him wish he'd grabbed a jacket to put on over his sweatshirt. He could have sworn the weather report had predicted low sixties for that day, but perhaps that was by afternoon, once the overnight rain moved out. For now, he was shivering as he hoisted up the gate and used a different key on the same ring to unlock the main entrance.

He shouldn't be doing this, he thought, cupping his hands around his mouth and blowing hot air into them while bracing the door open with his shoulder. He should still be in bed beside his wife. He would have even settled for sitting at his kitchen table with a mug of coffee and the dog barking at him relentlessly, giving his ankle a nip for every minute that passed without scratches or a bowl of food. But _no_ , he had to be here — all because of Vito.

What kind of person called before six A.M. anyway? Vito; of course Vito. And in typical Vito fashion, his request had not been pleasant, apologetic, or even of the bargaining variety. No. It had been a gruff "Get to the shop, _NOW_! Russo won't answer his phone and I can't miss the refrigerator delivery _again_!"

So up Carlo got from his warm bed, where he'd been snuggled against the ample backside of his wife, even though he didn't want to, but it's what cousins did for each other; it was all part of being _family_.

Family — pah. Some family Vito was; he'd never go to the pizzeria for an early morning delivery if Carlo asked him to, but that was just a fact of life Carlo had long accepted. With Vito, the path of least resistance was always preferable, and that path usually involved saying, "Sure V, I'm leaving right now."

Carlo only made it three steps into the shop before his toe connected with a solid object and he cursed under his breath. Hopping around on his non-injured foot, he made his way to the wall, groping for the light switch. He found it a few moments later as his big toe continued to throb. Despite trying to be gentle, he still winced when he placed his foot back down on the ground and observed the space. Chairs piled haphazardly by the entrance so that an unsuspecting victim would injure their toe, tarps draped over the limited number of tables clustered in one corner, and dust practically everywhere. What a mess!

Limping, Carlo made his way behind the front display case where the counter beside the cash register flipped up, allowing someone to access the back kitchen area from the front entrance. He didn't bother putting the flap back down as he was the only one in the store at that moment. Midway past the empty bakery racks, he flipped the switch illuminating the kitchen in the rear of the building. Only then did he notice something odd.

...was that a shoe?

Brow wrinkling, he approached the prep area, his eyes focused on the bottom of the white sneaker sitting lonely in the middle of the tile floor. Strange. Had one of the workers left his sneaker behind? That didn't make any sense. Why would—

"Oh, God!" Carlo cried out before crossing himself at the sight of the bare foot and body attached to it. Though Carlo barely crept more than a few inches forward, he didn't need to question whether the crumpled figure was alive or dead; the maroon pool of blood told him all he needed to know.

Turning away as his stomach began to feel unsettled, he reached into the pouch of his sweatshirt to retrieve his phone, intent on calling for the authorities. As for calling Vito? Well, he'd put that off as long as possible.

* * *

Richard Castle ambled his way up 27th Street from where the cab had dropped him off at the corner of Lexington Ave. He flipped up the collar of his jacket and stuffed his hands deeper down into his pockets, shivering in the mist-filled cold. Geez, if he had known about the insufferable weather, he'd have stayed in bed with his wife. Then again, she hadn't given him much choice, nudging (well, kicking — kind of) him out of bed, telling him to check out the scene along with the boys while she enjoyed her last twenty minutes of sleep in their king-sized bed solo.

Arriving at the address Ryan had texted him, Castle frowned at the front of the space. When Kate informed him there had been a murder at a bakery, he had _assumed_ it was a bakery-café in which he would be able to obtain coffee — something even more necessary now that his fingertips felt so numb. However, what she had failed to convey to him was that this bakery was not yet open. One glance inside told him it was very much still in the construction process and thus more than likely would not be serving him water, let alone a latte.

Crap.

Nodding to the uniform guarding the entrance, Castle ducked inside, tip-toeing around the chairs blocking his path with skill, particularly for a man of his size. Now that he was out of the annoying weather, Castle smoothed his jacket collar back down and observed the interior. The bakery was a thin slice of a shop sandwiched between two other buildings, barely wide enough for a few people to stand beside the counter — even less once they set up those tables clustered off to the side, he imagined. The glass display case out front sat upsettingly empty just a few feet away from bakery racks that suffered the same fate. So much for that muffin to go with his non-existent coffee.

"Castle? Back here."

Ryan's voice pulled the writer from his observations and he made his way along the counter until he found the open space to slip through. There, he dodged an ME tech on his way out, which was quite a task given the absurdly tight space. Finally, he progressed to the kitchen area where, due to the limited space, the observing detectives and medical examiner stood single file. Castle slipped in between Ryan and Esposito to gaze down at the crumpled body of their victim.

"Meet Vito Russo, 29 according to the Florida driver's license found in his wallet."

Castle moved his eyes from the man's shoeless foot to Ryan. "Florida? Bit out of his neck of the woods, isn't he?"

Ryan hummed and pointed with his pen towards the opposite side of the room. There, standing against the wall beside a double-stacked oven, stood a man with a salt-and-pepper mustache and rounded belly. He had his arms folded over his sweatshirt and appeared to be in a state of distress Castle recognized as post-corpse-seeing shock. "According to Carlo, who found the body, Vito owns a restaurant in Sarasota and was here helping his brother-in-law get this bakery off the ground."

Castle nodded and stepped around Ryan to get a closer look at their vic.

Vito's body was on the floor tucked tightly between a stainless-steel prep counter and a stand mixer the size of a middle schooler, each of them dusted with no small amount of white powder. Over the manufacturer's label sticker on the face of the mixer was a smear of crimson which corresponded to the matching drips on the mixer's safety cage and bowl itself. Gazing down at the victim, Castle took note of the mashed-down hair at the back of his head along with smears of red and brown.

"Blunt force trauma?" the writer asked Lanie, who was crouched down beside the knees of their vic.

"So it would appear," Lanie said, adjusting the wrist of her blue nitrile exam gloves. "Won't know officially until I get him back to the lab." Then, turning to Ryan, she said, "I'd estimate TOD around twelve hours ago, give or take."

As Ryan nodded, the writer looked around the scene and observed, "So he was killed yesterday evening... and when was the body found?"

"Ah." Ryan flipped back in his notes. "Just after six this morning. According to his statement, Mr. Moretti came in to open the shop for a delivery at the request of the owner, who is on his way back from Long Island where, apparently, there was some sort of family emergency."

"I-I just can't believe it." The eyes of both homicide detectives and the writer turned in the direction of the meek voice coming from the edge of the kitchen. "I can't believe he's dead. In the kitchen! Dead in the kitchen! Vito is going to be so, so mad."

Castle's brow furrowed as he glanced at the detectives. "Would... Vito have preferred to die elsewhere?"

Carlo's face contorted with confusion. "What?"

"Ah," Esposito stepped in, tapping Castle on the arm. "The bakery owner is Vito Moretti; I assume that's the Vito he's talking about."

"Got it." Castle muttered to him before turning to Carlo and apologizing.

"Could you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Mr. Russo?" Esposito asked the sniffling man.

Using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to mop under his nose, Carlo shook his head. "No, not at all. Russo was the nicest guy, really. Always had a smile on his face and greeted you like you were the best friend he hadn't seen in years. He was even nice to Vito — and people aren't usually nice to him."

"Why not?" the writer asked.

A guilty expression immediately flashed over Carlo's face and he tried to backtrack. "Well, um, see, Vito isn't exactly what you'd call... warm and cuddly. He's, ah, difficult at times — especially with Russo, but Russo took it in stride... what a guy..."

Castle glanced back at Ryan suspiciously. "Did Vito have a particular reason for disliking Mr. Russo?"

"No. Just that he was there, I suppose. See, Russo is Vito's wife Luciana's younger brother. She brought him up here to help her husband open this bakery."

"And Vito didn't want help," Castle concluded, his spidey-senses beginning to tingle as he got a whiff of motive.

"Vito didn't have a choice and he's not the type of guy to take lightly to decisions being forced on him, but Russo took it in stride; he really did try not to step on Vito's toes but, ah, as you can see," Carlo gestured around the space, "it's a bit tight in here. Would you guys excuse me for a minute? I want to try and call Vito again."

The detectives waved him away and began to confer with each other, reviewing the facts they'd gathered so far. "TOD was last evening; business isn't open to the public yet... think they have an employee list?"

"I'm hoping for security cameras in the area."

"Vikram can look into that. Meanwhile, I'll take this back to the Twelfth to find out more about our vic. He's wearing a wedding ring so I'll need to do some notifications. Why don't you stay here and wait for the owner to show up."

"Got it." Esposito responded to his colleague's recommendation.

"Mind if I hitch a ride with you?" Castle asked. Ryan beckoned for him to follow and they made their way back towards the exit, when the menu board resting atop the counter drew Castle's attention. In pink, puffy lettering at the top of the board was the title _Sweeter Sty of Life_ , which presumably was the business's name. As he could not immediately see the connection between the peculiar name and a bakery-café, Castle's brow wrinkled. "Odd sort of name, right?" he said to Ryan.

The detective merely shrugged, but before another word could be said, Carlo returned to the tight space and said, "Sorry; he didn't answer, but I'll keep trying."

"Excuse me," Castle said to him, holding up the two-foot-long wooden sign, "was this going to be a specialized bakery?"

"Oh. Yeah. Most of the donuts were going to be fried in bacon fat — that was Vito's great idea." Carlo said, though his tone indicated that he strongly disagreed.

Castle bounced up on his toes, his face lighting with glee. "And a great idea it was! Bacon fat donuts!" Genius! He was disappointed he hadn't thought of it himself.

The two detectives, who, due to their profession, considered themselves donut aficionados, met his enthusiasm with skeptical expressions. "Really, bro? Sounds like it could be weird," Esposito commented.

Castle placed the menu board back on the counter, brushed his hands and said, "Then I guess you just don't love bacon enough." Then, with nose held high, he led the way out of the bakery with Ryan rolling his eyes as he trailed behind him.

* * *

"Good morning again, my dear."

Kate Beckett looked up and a grin spread across her face upon sight of her husband. After a night of fitful sleep thanks to the growing child resting on her bladder, she was much happier to see him post her one allotted cup of caffeinated coffee that day. Of course, she was always happy to see him, but it felt better when anvils weren't weighing down her eyelids and her lower back didn't ache.

She stood belly-first (seemingly the only option now that she was 34 weeks along) and approached him. "Hey Castle. Interesting case?"

He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers before offering a hum. "Mmm maybe. Turns out, the bakery will be specializing in bacon fat donuts once it opens."

Kate could feel deep crinkles in her brow forming as that notion did not sound remotely appealing to her. "Really?" She was more of a regular Krispy Kreme person and she'd never turn down the occasional cronut — perhaps even one with chopped bacon on top, but bacon fat? That may have been going a little far.

The writer's chest deflated. "Why is no one else excited about this?"

Kate went to laugh, but almost immediately felt the bump of an elbow — or was it a knee? — against the inside of her belly. She gasped and pressed her hand over the spot where their daughter was saying good morning. The little girl had seemingly been holding a conga line in-utero during her shower earlier, but this was the first time she seemed to be alert since; she must have recognized her father's voice.

"I think Lily might be; she — ah," Kate gasped again — okay that was definitely a knee, "she seems excited."

He grinned and reached out his hand to press against her blouse and feel the bumping movements of their growing child. "Our future bacon connoisseur."

Kate rolled her eyes at her husband's suggestion. "Just what I always wanted for my daughter." After winking, she moved around him, skimming her hand over the top of his shoulders as she passed, and went out into the main bullpen to examine what Ryan was scrawling across the still-uncluttered murder board.

Her eyes skimmed over what he'd written out so far: the name of the victim, his age and current residence, information about the crime scene, and the word "Suspects" which, to that point, was blank underneath. "Do we have COD?"

"Unofficial." Ryan responded, holding up his cell phone that displayed a crime scene photo. "Blunt force trauma from falling against that commercial mixer."

Kate glanced over her shoulder and quirked her lips at her husband. "Guess they won't be making bacon donuts anytime soon."

He sighed dramatically. "I know; so disappointing. Maybe if we solve the case the owner will give us a free dozen!"

The captain rolled her eyes and then turned back to the murder board so the detective could fill her in on what they knew so far.

Barely five minutes passed before his partner showed up announcing, "Carlo finally got a hold of Vito; he's caught up in traffic and won't be back until around lunch."

"Vito?" Kate questioned, side eying the murder board.

"There are two Vitos," her husband explained. "One dead; one alive."

"Vito Moretti owns the bakery," Esposito clarified further.

Kate nodded. "I see. Well, make sure you keep your Vitos straight and keep me in the loop." With that, she moved back towards her office, trying her best not to waddle.


	2. Chapter 2

Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose as he gently placed the receiver of his desk phone back onto its cradle. The process of death notifications was never easy, no matter how many times he had done it, and he knew that would never change; however, what made the process even more difficult was not having a clue as to the answer to the query, "Do you know who did this?"

Nine times out of ten, when someone was informed that their family member or friend had passed away, their next question was asking who was responsible. During an active investigation, Ryan could never tell them who the party was — not until they were charged officially — so his default response was, "We're doing everything we can to find the person responsible." Usually, he said that with clues and ideas in his mind as to who the culprit might be. Today was not one of those days.

True, they had been notified of the body five hours earlier and it was not completely unusual to have no clues in such a tight time period, however talking to the victim's families usually led them somewhere — gave them a direction, but not this time.

"Hey."

Ryan turned towards the sound of his partner's voice and arched an eyebrow, hoping Esposito had found something when he had not.

"You got anything?"

Ryan shook his head. "You?"

"Nada. According to the three employees at Russo's café I spoke to so far, he was the nicest guy in the world. He was their boss and they loved him — had never worked for anyone better."

"Wife and brother-in-law said the same thing... more or less. Couldn't think of anyone who'd want to hurt them or their family."

"Besides," Castle chimed in as he returned from the break room with a newly filled mug of coffee, "all those people are in Florida, right? Even if one of them was slightly disgruntled, they wouldn't fly all the way up to New York to kill him, right?"

"That would be highly unlikely," Ryan agreed.

"Uh, guys?"

Ryan turned his head towards the man he immediately hoped would be their savior by giving them the starting point they so desperately craved. "Please tell me you found security camera footage."

"Yes... and no," said Vikram. "There is an ATM camera that has visibility of the front of the store, but other than regular street traffic last night, nothing could be seen. From the angle, I could not see anyone enter or exit the shop through the front, which means-"

"The killer went in and out through the back service entrance and there aren't any security cameras there." Esposito concluded before tossing his pen across the desk.

The tech whiz nodded. "Right. There are a few street cameras in the vicinity, but at that hour of the evening..."

"Needle in a haystack." Ryan sighed, mimicking his partner's frustration with his own pen toss. Vikram apologized, but they thanked him for his assistance as he walked away. Rubbing his chin, Ryan approached the murder board and then glanced at his writer friend. "Got any wild theories?"

He chuckled. "Maybe after this next round of caffeine kicks in."

Turning to Esposito he asked, "Thoughts?"

The darker haired man shrugged. "Well, not that I think it'll do any good, but I guess I'll put a call in to the hotel Russo was staying at to see if they have camera footage. Maybe the killer met with Russo there and it was someone no one else knew about."

"Plausible," Ryan agreed. Then, glancing at his watch, he took note of the time; fairly close to lunch. "I bet Vito Moretti's back from Long Island, we could... ah..." His voice drifted off when he saw Officer Aragon approaching from the elevator. Javi caught sight of her and immediately a smile blossomed on his face as he stood to greet her.

Ryan smiled inwardly, glad his partner and friend finally had someone and would no longer feel like the fifth wheel between him and Jenny and Castle and Beckett. Still, Espo's love connection could not derail their case and he wanted an extra set of eyes to get a read on the donut shop owner, who still remained in their suspect pool. "Hey Castle, wanna go interview Vito Moretti with me?"

The writer beamed and set his coffee mug down on the corner of Esposito's desk. "You know I'm always up for a road trip."

* * *

"Hola chica." Esposito greeted his colleague and female companion as of late with a smile and head nod.

"Hey." Aragon breathed out, keeping her tone quiet enough so that only he could hear her when they stood side by side. "Missed you the past few nights."

A smile crossed his face though he tried his best to hide it. "Me too." For the prior month the two of them had been having dinner together regularly and, as these things often did, dinner had led to more intimate activities not quite two weeks earlier. For that week, however, she had been too busy — as she called it — "playing mom" to hang out with him. Disappointing as that was, he understood and respected her need to be a parent first and a significant other second. "You and the kid have some nice bonding time?"

She nodded her head. "We did. He really, really loved the Knicks game."

Espo nodded. "I bet. You're not, ah, free tonight, are you?"

She smiled and walked around to the other side of him, presumably in an attempt to make their conversation seem more casual. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I am free but... I want you to meet Richie first — officially, I mean."

He tilted his head to the side and asked, "Officially?" wondering what exactly she meant by that.

Her cheeks turned a soft rose color. "Well, if you want — I guess I should have asked first. I was just thinking since we've been getting closer and a little more serious — we're serious, right? I mean the last time we were together..."

"Yeah," he confirmed. Their conversation about being exclusive had been more implied than official, but he had no problem making the call, particularly since he'd been interested in her for well over a year. "Definitely."

A smile bloomed on her lips. "Good — great, I mean. That's what I want, but I'd also like you to meet Richie. I know we talked about this before — about taking things slow with him so he doesn't get too attached, but that doesn't mean I don't want him to know who you are."

He nodded. He knew Aragon had been divorced from her husband since the boy was three, and thus presumably she had dated and introduced Richie to men in that five-year time period, but he understood why she was hesitant to allow Richie to have extended contact with a man who would not be around that long. He had no intentions of being that man, so he had no problem meeting the boy. "Sure. So, ah, would we all eat dinner together or...?"

"No, no." She shook her head. "My mother'll babysit, but when you pick me up you could come in and say hi?"

He bobbed his head. "Absolutely. We, ah, just got this case, so can we maybe play the time by ear? Not sure when I'll get out of here."

She nodded. "Of course, just text me, okay?"

He grinned as she moved to walk away. "Can't wait."

* * *

"This is ridiculous! What do you mean I cannot go inside? Get out of my way!"

The moment they entered the alley leading to the rear service entrance of the future _Sweeter Sty_ shop, Castle wrinkled his nose as the heavily-accented shouting assailed his ears. On the bright side, it appeared Vito Moretti had returned, meaning their trip was not for naught, but clearly he was quite displeased, which Castle feared would not make him too forthcoming with information about their victim.

"Excuse me, Mr. Moretti?"

The man Castle estimated to be around his own age, perhaps slightly younger, gazed suspiciously between the two new men. He wore a heavy forest-green jacket that served to hide the paunch he'd acquired from a career spent sampling his own culinary creations. His face was well rounded and his hair an unnatural inky black that was likely the result of a cheap, at-home dye job. Castle silently thanked the gods for blessing him with naturally brown hair even in his late 40s, but simultaneously wondered if his new little girl would be the one responsible for sprouts of gray.

Vito's snipped demand of, "What do you want?" pulled Castle from his slightly unsettling thoughts.

"Detective Ryan, NYPD," Kevin said, pulling open his jacket momentarily to display the tin clipped to his belt.

"Richard Castle." The writer grinned and extended his hand. Vito merely gazed down at it skeptically, so Castle drew it back, stuck it in his pocket, and opted instead for flattery. "Sir, I just wanted to say: love the concept. Bacon fat donuts? Brilliant!"

Vito gazed at him with minimal interest — as though a good customer base was not important to his budding business. "Then you'd better come back when we're open — and bring your friends."

As a mildly offended look crossed Castle's face, Ryan jumped in with, "Mr. Moretti we'd just like to ask you some questions with regards to our investigation into Vito Russo's murder. Can you tell us the last time you saw him?"

Vito choked out a cough that sounded heavy with phlegm, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and spat into it; Castle immediately felt less interested in the donuts he produced. "Yesterday afternoon, before I left. He was here waiting for delivery that never came from that good-for-nothing fool trying to screw me over again!"

Ryan looked up from the notebook he was scribbling in. "Sorry — what delivery was this?"

Talking with wide-sweeping hand gestures, Vito explained, "Our new refrigerator! How am I supposed to open my shop in three days when they gave me a broken refrigerator?!" He emphasized this by holding up three fingers on his left hand.

"And it never came?"

He cursed under his breath in Italian. "No! Not even this morning! They tell me last night, 'Sorry we have no truck,'" he mocked in a high pitched tone. "That's not my problem! I tell them this no good, but they say sorry and hang up. Later, they say we can bring tomorrow, first thing. So I call Vito to meet them at the store, but he didn't answer. I left a message, but he never call or text to confirm, so this morning I had to call Carlo and now I can't get the 'frigerator because you won't let me in _my_ store." He concluded by emphasizing each of the last three words dramatically.

Castle reviewed Vito's comments in his mind. Despite the man's demeanor, he was being quite helpful with their timeline. "Do you remember when they called you about the delivery last night?"

"Five o'clock, maybe a little after? Their 'end of the day,'" he mocked again before stabbing his thumb into the center of his chest. " _MY_ day doesn't end at five o'clock even though it starts at four! No respect! I called Vito and told him to go home; he said he'd clean up and then go."

"And then when did you call him again and leave the message?"

"I don't know."

"Can you check your phone?" Ryan asked. Vito seemed nonplussed until Ryan added, "Please? It could help us find who did this."

Sighing dramatically, Vito pulled his phone from his coat pocket and began tapping at the screen. "Seven-oh-eight."

Ryan nodded and thanked him.

Vito grumbled as he pocketed the phone once more. "Can I get into my store now?"

"Ah, no, not yet. Sorry."

Anger clearly boiling over within him, Vito stomped his foot on the ground. "Then why are you still here? Go! Go away!" He shooed them away as though they were irritating stray dogs begging for leftover bacon scraps.

Fighting to keep a potential suspect from seeing him roll his eyes, the writer turned and led the way back out of the alley towards where Ryan parked his vehicle. "What a nice guy," he muttered once they were out of earshot.

"Yeah, I bet you can't wait to bring your friends to his donut shop."

He chuckled. "No, can't wait."

* * *

"Well, on the bright side, all of this does fit with our existing timeline."

"What fits? Did you get new evidence?" Kate asked as she stepped out of her office and gazed at the trio of men around the murder board. She crossed her arms over her chest, where they rested just above her protruding belly.

"Spoke to Vito Moretti, owner of _Sweeter Sty_ , who confirmed that Russo was still alive around five P.M. when Moretti called him to let him know a delivery was canceled. Then, Moretti called back just after seven and Russo didn't answer his phone. We spoke to Lanie, who confirmed TOD window is between five and seven, so if Russo got the original call at five and he stuck around for another hour to clean up, the killer found him in the middle of it — and right in the middle of our window."

Esposito stood from his desk chair and walked up to stand beside the board. "Yeah, but didn't you get a look at that place? I don't think I'd call it clean. I bet TOD was closer to five."

"You didn't see it before it was 'cleaned,'" Castle said with air quotes.

Esposito nodded. "Fair enough."

"So we have a window, who are the suspects?" Beckett asked, noting that section of the murder board remained irritatingly vacant.

"On that point," Esposito said, returning to his desk to pick up a legal-sized pad of paper. "I got a hold of the hotel Russo was staying at, but they don't keep more than 24 hours of security footage, so that probably won't help. I also spoke with Russo's sister-"

"Also known as shop-owner-Vito's wife?"

Espo nodded to the writer. "Yep. And she said the same as all the others: no one would ever want to kill Russo. He was nice to everybody, never so much as had anyone give him the stink eye."

"No vendors? Former employees? Distant cousins? No one disliked this guy?"

"Nah, Captain, he was like some sort of saint or something. It doesn't make sense."

Castle popped out of his usual chair quicker than if he'd suddenly been jolted with electricity. Kate read his expression as the one he usually had on Christmas morning, or the morning of his birthday, or when she surprised him by walking into his office naked, and immediately felt concern wash over her; a Castle theory was definitely forthcoming.

"GUYS!"

Obviously not as adept at reading the man's tells as she was, Esposito responded with a slightly annoyed, "What?"

"It doesn't make sense."

The detective blinked. "I just said that."

"No — no! Don't you see? That's it!" Castle stepped up beside the board and stabbed his finger at the DMV photo of Russo tacked onto it. "Vito wasn't meant to die; Vito was. The killer got the wrong Vito!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Castle..."

The writer gazed around disappointedly at the three faces that did not seem to share his enthusiasm. How could they not be excited about this? It was such a good twist that increased his interest in the case by ten-fold at least. The writer gazed over at his wife, putting on his best pleading face. "C'mon — this makes sense. Just hear me out."

While the boys grumbled, "Here we go again," and snipped, "This should be good," Beckett gave an approving head nod.

Smiling, Castle took center stage to explain his thought process. "The killer didn't know that Shop-Owner-Vito had gone out of town that afternoon, so when he went to the shop and found a man named Vito, he just assumed it was the owner, the man he wanted to kill and went ahead and killed him. Given our lovely interaction with Owner-Vito today — and considering the comments that Carlo made earlier — I'd hazard to guess that he has more than a few people in his life who would be happier if he wasn't around anymore."

To this point, Ryan nodded. "Can't really disagree there; the guy seemed like a piece of work."

"Wait, hold on." Kate interrupted them, holding out her arms, palms facing out, so she could interrupt their crazy train of thought. "Do the two Vitos even look alike? Wouldn't they have to for Castle's theory to work?"

"Not necessarily," the writer responded immediately, defending his thoughts.

"I don't think they look alike at all," Ryan said after glancing at their vic's DMV photo posted on the murder board. "Besides, Owner-Vito has at least fifteen years on Russo, if not more."

"Which actually works in our favor," Castle continued. "If I'm right and the wrong Vito was killed, it would mean the killer never met Owner-Vito and only knew him by name and reputation. That would narrow our suspect pool quite significantly. Beckett?" He questioned his wife when he saw her teeth graze over her bottom lip. He could see an idea formulating behind her eyes and wanted to know what she thought of his theory.

"What about Vito — Owner-Vito? How does he look for this?"

Ryan wrinkled his nose. "Dunno, Cap. He was pretty mad about not being able to open his shop, so I highly doubt he would have left a dead body in it. And he was out of town — so he says. Also, what motive would he have?"

"You said before that Moretti didn't want Russo there — was that enough to kill him?" the captain asked. None of the men responded verbally, but both Ryan and Castle seemed quite unconvinced. She did respect their gut instincts and would concede that scenario did not seem to be the most likely; however, that did not mean that the shop owner could not still provide them with relevant information.

"I want you to bring Vito Moretti in for questioning. Let him sweat in the box while you confirm his alibi. If nothing else, hopefully he can turn us on to some suspects."

"On it." Ryan and Esposito nodded before heading back towards their desk.

Once their impromptu meeting had broken up, Castle walked over to his wife and gazed at her lovely face the way he always did: with no small amount of reverence. "All this bakery talk is making me hungry. Want me to grab you a mid-afternoon pick-me-up?"

"What did you have in mind? Don't say bacon fat donuts."

"No! You can't get those yet!" He winked and she rolled her eyes. "But I was thinking along those lines. Croissant? Bear claw?"

She shrugged. "Something. Whatever looks best. You know what I like."

He grinned. "That I do. Be back soon." With that, he brushed his lips over her forehead, grabbed his coat, and walked towards the elevator where Ryan was already waiting for the car to ascend.

"You think Vito Moretti did this?"

"Not a chance," Castle replied. "But thinking about potential suspects: employees of the new bakery, the realtor, construction guys — they would have all known which Vito was which, right?"

"Well maybe not all of them. The realtor might have, but maybe not his assistant... someone from the office..."

"Ah, yes; good point." Castle nodded.

"Only if Moretti can help us narrow it down — otherwise, we've still got nothing."

Castle held up his left hand with his middle finger crossed over his index one. "Here's hoping."

* * *

Sitting in the oppressively bright, minimally furnished interrogation room, Vito Moretti could not have been more irritated. He'd been sitting alone for the better part of half an hour after a handsy uniformed officer escorted him there. Honestly! Like he didn't know how to walk down a hallway by himself! Now, he was wasting even more time — time he didn't have to waste — all because Russo had gone and gotten himself killed in the shop. Stupid kid.

He'd been pestering the CSU techs ever since arriving at his shop. When could he get inside and start cleaning up? He had a business to run! What a bunch of inconsiderate morons! How much time did it take to take a few pictures, anyway? He didn't even know how bad it was — how much of a mess Russo had caused him. And — and! — if all that wasn't bad enough, reporters were snapping pictures of the front of the shop. "No publicity is bad publicity, right?" Carlo had said. What a moron! No publicity is bad publicity unless it's a murder! In a bakery! That's opening in three days! Assuming he'd have his shop back by then. Stupid, stupid kid.

When the interrogation room door opened, Vito turned his head to see a tall brunette woman entering, carrying a file folder at her side that did not even come close to hiding the round belly protruding beneath her dark blazer. The navy blue maternity blouse she wore was flattering, and the woman was clearly beautiful, but Vito still arched a skeptical eyebrow.

What was this woman doing? As pregnant as she was, she should have been home — presumably with her other children, judging by her age. But she was pulling out the chair in front of him, spreading her file across the table. Was she — was she going to question him? Vito laughed out loud at the notion. "Lady if this is some sort of new trick the NYPD is using — a pregnant chick asking questions — you can tell them it ain't a good idea." Of course he was guilty of nothing, but if he was, this woman's round belly would detract from any menacing words coming out of her mouth.

Instead of reacting to his comments, the woman merely gave him a bored expression. "Mr. Moretti, my name is Kate Beckett and I am captain of this precinct."

Moretti's brow wrinkled as his eyes drifted towards her left hand to see that yes, she wore a wedding band. He let out a grunt under his breath. A precinct captain? No way he would have let his wife work that kind of job when she was raising their kids. Ridiculous.

He was so distracted by Captain Beckett that he failed to notice that a man had entered the room until he sat down beside the woman. Moretti recognized this man as the larger one who had questioned him earlier at the bakery. He did not recall the man introducing himself as law enforcement, but he obviously must have missed it since he was so distracted with getting his store back. Speaking of... "When can I get back into my store?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Moretti, but our crime scene unit is still working in there. It is an active murder scene."

"The murder is done! I need to get in there and clean up. My store must open this weekend!"

The woman did not react to his insistent tone. Instead, she glanced down to her paperwork as casually as ever. "My detectives were informed that you went to Long Island yesterday afternoon. Why?"

"My grandmother," he told her gruffly — not that it was any of her business. "She has the diabetes and wasn't doing well. The nurses said we should go see her just…just in case."

"I'm sorry to hear that; is she doing better? Is that why you came back?"

"She's doing okay. I came back because Carlo told me Russo was killed in my shop!" Stupid kid.

The woman's eyes lifted to meet her suspect's. "Yes. Tell me about your relationship with Vito Russo."

"He's my wife's brother."

"I mean personally. Did you like Vito Russo?"

Moretti shrugged. "He was an annoying kid. Always in my way. Always saying, 'Vito you should try this, you should do that.' What does he know? He's just a kid!" So what if he had his own café? So what if it was rated 'Fastest growing restaurant in Sarasota?' He'd been in the restaurant business since he was a teenager; he didn't need some kid giving him "tips" on things he already knew how to do!

"So he annoyed you," the man concluded, speaking for the first time since entering the room. "Enough to kill him?"

"Of course not!" What a ridiculous thought. He wouldn't kill anyone, least of all Russo. Russo exasperated him and he'd thrown him out of his shop several times over the two weeks he was there, but kill him? He never even thought about it.

"Why not?"

"Why would I? He's annoying, but he's leaving — Saturday, the day the shop opens."

"Maybe he pushed you too far; maybe you got angry. I'm not saying you intended to kill him but things happen."

Though the woman shrugged casually, it only made Moretti more annoyed. "You want to know why I didn't kill him? I give you one good reason. Because if I did, my wife would make my life so miserable I would wish I was dead. Her little baby brother — she love him so much. If I say something about Russo? She nag and nag and nag, saying how dare I say something bad about Vito. If I kill him, she nag me to death. Ah, see — this guy." Moretti thumbed towards the man in the room when he offered a small smile. "He understands. You married, right?"

The man offered him a smile. "I am, but my wife doesn't nag."

Moretti laughed. "All women nag."

The woman cleared her throat, presumably trying to draw his attention back to her; typical woman. "Mr. Moretti, please. If you didn't kill Vito Russo, do you have any ideas on who might have wanted to hurt him?"

"No. No." He shook his head and skimmed his hands flat before leaning back in his seat. "Russo might have been annoying, but everybody love him; he was a good guy."

He watched as the man and woman exchanged glances before the man asked. "What about you? Would anyone want to hurt you?"

A lightbulb went off in Moretti's head and he cursed under his breath. "You mean they kill Russo so I can't open my business? Bastards!"

"Who? Who's a bastard?"

"I don't know — but whoever they are, they're a bastard."

The captain shut her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. "Okay, Mr. Moretti how about... where did you work before you decided to open your bakery? Have you ever owned a shop before?"

"No, never. For twenty years I work as a baker for Antonio Bucchio. He owns three restaurants in the city."

"And was Mr. Bucchio upset when you told him you were leaving?" the man asked.

"Of course! I was the best baker he ever had, but, ah, we work it out. He's happy for me." Moretti nodded and leaned his folded hands against the cool metal table. It was a shame about Russo, it really was, but all the money he'd saved from two decades getting up at 3:00 A.M. to make fresh bread was dedicated to the business he was building — the one that needed to open this Saturday. He didn't care if Bucchio did it or someone else, he needed to start testing his fryers for their big opening, and now it was the cops standing in his way.

"So when can I get into my bakery?"

* * *

"So," Ryan began when Kate and Castle emerged from the interrogation room after parting ways with the bakery owner, "whatdya think?"

She planted one hand at her hip and the other at the front of her belly. "Well he sure is a sweetheart, but also not our guy. His alibi check out?"

"Yep. His grandmother's live-in nurse says that Moretti and his wife arrived shortly after three and he didn't leave until the next morning."

Kate bobbed her head. "Looks like Castle's theory is becoming more plausible."

"Yes!" The writer cheered, punching the air with his right fist.

His wife offered him a small smile. "Don't get too excited yet, Castle; this means we have a whole new group of suspects to go through starting with…" She referred back to her notes. "Antonio Bucchio — Moretti's former boss. Track him down and you guys can go speak with him first thing tomorrow."

"Perfect!" Esposito said before hopping out of his desk chair, grabbing his coat and moving towards the exit before his captain stopped him with, "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Ah... dinner. Starving," he added, patting his belly.

Kate exchanged smirks with her husband before saying, "Have a nice time." She then said goodnight to Ryan before walking into her office, her husband trailing behind her.

"So what would you like for dinner this evening?"

She turned towards him and skimmed her hand over her lower left side. "A back massage?"

He hummed. "I think you'll still be hungry after that."

She shut her eyes and attempted to massage out one of the knots. "See, the problem with that is: the more I eat, the more she grows, and the more she hurts my back."

Castle walked around behind her and replaced his hands with hers, his thumbs quickly locating the correct spot. She let out a moan and braced her right hand against her desk for support. "Only six more weeks, honey; you can make it."

Smiling inwardly, Kate patted her belly. "I know; I just can't wait to meet her."

He dropped a kiss onto her shoulder. "Me neither."

* * *

Esposito straightened the collar of his olive-green shirt beneath his leather jacket when he stopped in front of Aragon's Brooklyn apartment. He wasn't nervous — not really. He'd met plenty of girlfriend's families before in his life, but he liked Aragon — really liked her, and of course didn't want to make a bad impression. When they agreed earlier that day, he'd thought, meeting an eight-year-old kid? No sweat! He was great with kids — well, not as amazing as the writer, but good enough. He certainly wasn't ready to become a part-time dad tomorrow, but he'd become quite skilled at making the Ryan children smile.

As the day progressed, though, he grew a bit more concerned. What if Richie didn't like him? What if he said something stupid and accidentally made the kid hate him? Would Aragon want to then break off their relationship? How long would he have to attempt to make things right before he was no longer a welcomed presence in her life? What if—

No. No, he was not going to worry about a future that might not even be a problem. He was not concerned about meeting a little boy. He was a 41-year-old man and that was ridiculous. Clearing his throat and plastering what was arguably an over-enthusiastic smile on his face, Esposito rapped on the door with his knuckles.

Barely a minute passed before the door opened and Aragon's smiling face appeared in the doorway. She greeted him and beckoned him inside. During all their previous dates they had either met at the restaurant or at his apartment, so he had yet to be inside hers, but he found it to be as he expected: tightly packed with furniture and perhaps a little cluttered, but it still felt homey and livable and certainly far warmer than his sparsely furnished bachelor pad.

"Richie, c'mere; I want you to meet someone." Aragon called out as she shut the door behind him.

Esposito turned to see a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy with a quizzical expression exiting the kitchen. At first glance, Esposito did not notice any strong resemblance between Richie and his mother, so he presumed the boy favored his father more heavily. Richie rubbed the underside of his nose as his mother did the introductions.

"Richie, this is my friend Javier. He works at the Twelfth Precinct with me."

"Hey, Richie, nice to meet ya." Esposito extended his hand down to shake the boy's, but Richie didn't move to shake it. Instead, his curious expression began to fade into one that seemed more like a scowl.

"Richie why don't — oh, excuse me," Aragon said when her cell phone rang and interrupted them. She pulled it from the back pocket of her jeans and looked at the screen. "It's my mother; hopefully she's not running too late." She then excused herself to take the call, leaving Esposito alone with the boy.

Confidence still not wavering, Esposito asked, "So what grade are you in, Richie?"

The boy ignored his question and instead asked, "Are you dating my mom?"

"Ah..." The detective hesitated. Strictly speaking they were dating. However, he did not want to be the one to drop that bomb on Aragon's son, so he quickly came up with a creative answer. "We're hanging out — having dinner and all that. We're good friends."

"Sounds like you're dating," Richie concluded. Before Esposito could defend, the young man began to circle him, sizing him up as though a predator would his prey. "You should know," Richie said after he'd completed a loop, "that if you ever hurt my mom, I'll hurt you — real bad."

"Wh-what?!" Esposito half squeaked in response, completely taken off-guard by such comments from someone less than half his size.

"I take karate lessons." Richie continued. "And I'll beat you up if you ever hurt her."

"Um... well, your mom's a cop, Richie; she can take care of herself, but I don't intend to hurt her."

"You'd better not," the boy said in as threatening a tone as an eight-year-old could muster.

"Good news!" Aragon announced not a second later when she returned from her phone call. "Mom-mom will be here in less than five minutes and then we can go to dinner."

"Great!" Esposito said, plastering a smile across his face, but silently knowing those five minutes would feel like a very long time.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey man," Ryan greeted his partner when he arrived ten minutes later than usual, carrying a large mug of coffee and yawning as he placed it on his desk. The younger detective couldn't help but smirk. "Good date last night?"

Esposito's eyes flicked momentarily in Ryan's direction. "I don't know what you're talking about, bro; I ate by myself last night."

Ryan pushed himself out of his chair. "Sure, sure, but if you did have a date, was it a good one?"

"A weird one."

"How so?"

Espo glanced into their captain's office, presumably to check to make sure it was empty, before speaking in hushed tones to his partner. "So, she's got this kid, right? And she said it was important to her that I meet him now that we're, you know, serious."

Ryan's brow rose. "Serious? Really?"

He shrugged and scuffed his shoe over the ground as he spoke, "Yeah, well we talked about it and things are going well. She's not the kind of girl who wants something casual, you know? She wants committed and that's fine with me, which was why she asked me to meet her son — Richie."

"And... I'm going to guess that he didn't like you?"

"Worse than that!" Espo spluttered. Then, he quickly looked around to make sure no one had heard his outburst. Lowering his tone again, he said, "The kid threatened me — said he knew karate and he'd beat me up if I ever hurt his mom. I didn't know what to say!"

That time, Ryan laughed a little louder. "How old is this kid?"

"Seven or eight."

Bringing his hand up to skim across his lower jaw, Ryan gazed at his partner with utmost seriousness while struggling to hold his mouth straight. "Dunno, Javi; maybe he could take you. Hey!" he whined when the back of Espo's hand came into sharp contact with his shoulder.

"This isn't funny! If her kid hates me, she's going to break up with me!"

Ryan clapped his hand against the other man's shoulder. "Relax. It was the first time you met the kid. Next time you'll win him over for sure." As Esposito's expression continued to look skeptical, Ryan continued with, "C'mon — you're great with kids. Sarah Grace loves her Uncle Javi, doesn't she?"

Espo gave an embarrassed shrug. "Yeah, she does."

"So you have nothing to worry about; it'll be fine. Now let's go see if Antonio Bucchio is our killer."

The former employer of bakery owner Vito Moretti had arrived promptly around eight, even though Ryan had only called him half an hour earlier. Apparently, that was the best time for him to come: after he'd organized for the early breakfast rush and before lunch prep began. Considering at that point he was their main suspect, Ryan was glad that they didn't have to drag out the interview any further.

The duo of detectives walked into Interrogation Room One where Bucchio was waiting; he stood when they entered, and extended his hand in greeting. Bucchio was a tall, slender man probably in his early 60s, though it was hard to tell; the thin sprigs of white hair dusting the top of his skull gave him an aged appearance, which may have been premature.

"If you don't mind me asking: why am I here?" Bucchio questioned with a heavy Brooklyn accent. "The guy on the phone said he wanted to ask me question about a crime that was committed."

"Ah yeah, that was me," Ryan said. "We were wondering if you knew Vito Russo." Ryan placed the man's DMV photo on the table between them.

Bucchio shrugged. "Doesn't look familiar. Who is he?"

Ignoring the returned question, Ryan continued. "Do you know Vito Moretti?"

Bucchio's wrinkled brow smoothed with recognition and he leaned back in his seat. "Oh yeah I know Vito. Why?"

"He tells us that the two of you worked together for quite some time."

"Twenty years — about."

"And how would you classify that relationship?"

The man smiled and brushed his hand over his head, spreading the few hairs that remained out at odd angles. He skimmed his fingers over the stubble dusting his jaw before saying, "Ah, difficult at times, I suppose."

"Difficult at times," Esposito echoed. "Did you and Vito argue?"

Bucchio laughed as though Esposito had asked if the sun was the yellow object high in the sky. "Ah yeah, we argued. I also fired him three times."

The detectives exchanged glances. "Three times. Wow. Usually people only get fired once."

He bobbed his head. "Well 'people' usually don't make bread as good as Vito does. Vito and I would argue about something — usually about him rearranging everything in my kitchen — and I'd tell him enough was enough and that he was done. Then, my customers would complain, ask why the bread wasn't as good, so I'd hire Vito back and so the cycle repeated."

Ryan considered the man's statement. It wasn't said with anger or rage, but merely repeated matter-of-fact, like he was reading an article in the paper, so he decided to dig a little further. "How did you feel when Vito told you he was leaving?"

Their suspect hesitated a moment before answering. "Ah... disappointed. Yeah, disappointed, but I get it. It's what he wants so I'm happy for him."

"What about your customers?"

Bucchio shrugged. "It is what it is; they'll adjust."

Ryan nudged the photograph closer to the man across from him. "So let me ask again: did you know Vito Russo?" He really didn't think Bucchio was their guy; he was far too calm, not ruffled at all — and not in the 'psychopathic killer' way — but he wouldn't have been doing his job if he didn't push a little further.

"No. I still don't understand what this is about. What does this guy have to do with Vito Moretti?"

"Where were you two nights ago, say... between four and eight?"

"I go to bed at eight. Left the diner around four, went home... why?" Bucchio leaned harder against the table, his forearms resting flat, his fingers pressing against the metal.

"Can anyone confirm that?"

His eyes darted towards the darker-haired man who had asked the question. "Yeah, my wife and son. Seriously, what's going on?"

"Vito Russo, brother-in-law of Vito Moretti, was killed in his shop two nights ago."

"And you think... oh no. No." Bucchio shook his head as he leaned back in his seat. "No, you guys got the wrong idea here. Moretti was a great friend of mine. Yeah I was a little mad when he said he was leaving, but I'm happy for him. Really. He's a great baker and his shop is going to do well."

Ryan glanced over at his partner, who seemed to share the same opinion: this was, unfortunately, not their guy. "No bad blood between you two?"

Bucchio shook his head adamantly. "None. None at all. Man... what a shame."

* * *

Kate Beckett sighed when she exited her office and took note of the vacant "Suspects" side of their murder board. True, it was barely 24 hours after the murder was called in, but she knew how critical the first 48 were and they'd burned almost half the time only to end up back at square one. Years of being a cop told her that was far from atypical, but it was frustrating for both her squad and the victim's family.

"I'm guessing Vito Moretti's former employer was not our guy?"

Esposito gazed up at her and shook his head. "His only alibi was his family, but it's still not him."

"So where are we at now?"

"Looking into everyone who knew, worked with, or ran across Moretti in any way to broaden our suspect pool."

"And?" she led.

"The list is definitely growing," Ryan replied. "Turns out Vito Moretti didn't have that many fans. In fact, it's possible no one liked him — at least no one who worked with him."

Beckett hummed and stroked her belly. "Any stand out as being the angriest?"

"Well, none of them seemed angry enough to kill, if that's what you mean. Moretti never shorted them money or cheated them anything, he's just kind of a jerk — always giving unreasonable demands and timelines, but then as soon as the vendor makes a delivery or the landlord fixes the broken doorknob he's back to being a slightly grouchy but still cool cucumber."

"Besides," Espo continued, "it seems like most of them have seen him in person, so they wouldn't have mixed up the Vitos. So much for your husband's theory — where is he by the way?"

She shrugged. "He said he had errands and would be in by mid-morning, so I assume that means he'll be back carrying bags of clothes and toys for Lily — adding to her already ample haul."

She loved her husband's enthusiasm, she really did, but — as with everything — he was starting to go a little over the top. He had gone through this whole caring-for-an-infant thing before, surely he had to understand that nearly one hundred onesies was far too many — particularly in the 0-3 month size — but seemingly every few days he procured another one in pink, yellow, or with the Green Lantern logo on the front of it. Really, she knew she couldn't complain. She had read on far too many mommy blogs just how uninterested some fathers-to-be were, so the opposite shouldn't have been a problem, but they were running out of room in the dresser drawers and she hadn't even arrived yet!

"Well, it's Castle so — what else did you expect?" Ryan asked rhetorically.

Kate merely shrugged as he was one hundred percent right. Then, she gazed over at the murder board and reviewed their conversation in her mind while resting her hands at her mid-back. Castle had done a great job of rubbing her muscles until they felt like jelly the night before, but she could already tell she'd need another massage that evening... and the next evening... and, really, every evening until their baby came, but she doubted her husband would mind.

"Just don't totally rule out anyone who you think met Vito face-to-face if they seem particularly angry with him. They may not have killed the wrong Vito, but don't rule out killing someone they thought of as a random shop employee just to get back at Moretti for being an ass to them."

"Good point," Ryan said, while Espo responded with, "Got it, Cap."

* * *

Grin on his face, Castle tapped his knuckles against his wife's office door, bounding inside once she looked up and mirrored his expression. "You're never going to guess what I found when I was out shopping."

"Oh... Castle..."

"No, no." He held up his hand to stop her protest. "You're seriously going to love this." From the petite brown bag he clutched, he procured a tissue-paper-wrapped package and placed it on her desk. Then, he waited, bouncing on his toes, as she pulled at the tape to reveal two items: a blue knit baby diaper cover that had a black waistband and silver police cuffs dangling from a faux belt loop, and an infant-sized knit police cap in matching blue.

"Isn't it adorable?!" the writer gushed. "I know we hadn't officially decided yet, but you know how newborn photoshoots are all over Facebook nowadays? I just thought: how cute would it be if Lily wore those in some of the pictures?"

Kate giggled and placed the knit item back in its wrapping. "Actually Castle, that would be completely adorable."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." With that, she stood up and leaned over her desk to give him a quick kiss. "Get anything else interesting on your errands?"

He chortled to himself, but refused to reveal his secret intentions. "Maybe; you'll just have to wait and see."

She gazed at him cautiously. "Oh yeah that doesn't scare me at all."

"You're going to love it!"

"I'm sure..."

"So how goes the case? I actually had an idea if you're still light on suspects."

She chuckled. "Light is an understatement."

"Perfect!"

Castle led the way out into the bullpen before gathering the other two members of their team and standing in front of the murder board. "I had a thought when I stopped to get some juice on the way here: what about the refrigerator sales guy?"

"What?" Ryan asked.

"You know — the guy who was supposed to deliver the new refrigerator, but didn't show up."

"Key words being: didn't show up," Espo snipped.

"Ah," Castle held up an index finger, "but what if he did? What if he showed up anyway? Do we know if that refrigerator is still broken? Has anyone checked? If he was just swapping it out for the same model, they'd look identical, right?"

While the boys were still processing his statement, Castle glanced over to his wife to see her brow wrinkling. "So you're saying the guy delivered the refrigerator, killed Vito, and then left with the old, broken refrigerator and... what? Thought no one would realize he was there?"

He huffed as it sounded like she was trying to blow apart the theory he'd worked hard on — well, the theory he'd thought about for four minutes. "I didn't say he was a smart killer, just a possible one."

"Worth checking out, I guess."

The writer grinned. "Sweet! Field trip!"

* * *

"Well this thing is definitely broken," Ryan concluded after opening and closing the stainless steel door ten minutes after they arrived and made sure the unit was plugged in. "So much for that theory."

Castle grumbled and wandered around the space, determined to find something they hadn't. He made his way towards the front of the shop, where the counter beside the empty display case was littered with paperwork that did not seem organized in any way. He shuffled through the forms to find that some had grease smudges or other dirt marks, and others were just plain wrinkled or torn.

One such paper appeared to be the delivery manifest from J&S Equipment. The writer was far from an expert on commercial food service equipment, but he certainly knew the difference between a refrigerator and an oven, so he began to skim the list to see if anything seemed amiss.

For several minutes, he wandered the limited kitchen space, glancing down at the list of fourteen items, and then to the counter in the front or the back to verify the delivered items were in place. The second to last item on the list struck him as odd. "Look at this. Everything is listed here — the tables, the fridge, the oven. Only one item is listed as being backordered: a blender."

"So?" Esposito asked.

The writer blinked at him, backed up three steps, and pointed to the rectangular box tucked in beside shelves filled with sugar and flour. "Um, blender?"

Espo shrugged. "It's still in the box; maybe he bought it somewhere else."

"Possibly. Or maybe the killer delivered it before shoving Vito into that mixer. All I'm saying is: were it not for the called-off delivery, the equipment guy would have been the last person to see Vito alive, so maybe we should pay..." His eyes skimmed the page to see if he could find a contact name from the equipment supplier. Off to the right side, just below the address for "J&S Equipment" he saw the printed line, _Contact: Andre N._ "...Andre a visit." Glancing up and smiling at the skeptical detective duo he added, "Couldn't hurt, right?"

* * *

"Excuse me, are you Andre Novak?" Esposito slowed his walk just a few feet away from the desk the J&S Equipment office receptionist had directed him to. This particular office, on the 52nd floor of a midtown building, did not seem out of the ordinary when compared to the dozens of other office buildings in the city: rows and rows of desks seated in front of expansive glass windows giving the workers inside the illusion of freedom during the eight-to-ten hours they sat inside.

As they approached from behind, neither Esposito nor his partner got a good look at their latest suspect until he turned around and stood from his seat to display an impressive towering height — nearing six-and-a-half feet, Esposito guessed. With a well-muscled stature and large meaty hands, Esposito did not need to wonder if this man was capable of shoving a man into a metal piece of equipment hard enough to kill him.

Outside of his size, nothing about Andre seemed out of the ordinary. He had brown hair that was cut very close to his head in an ordinary style. His eyes were brown with no visible lines around them, leading the detective to guess his age to be around 30, no older than 35.

"Yeah. Can I help you?" Andre responded, his tone pleasant.

"My name is Detective Esposito, this is Detective Ryan and we have some questions for you. Are you involved with the _Sweeter Sty of Life_ bakery?"

Andre nodded and folded his arms over his chest. "Ah, yeah. I'm the project manager there. Why?"

"So you know Vito Russo?"

Their suspect's brow wrinkled. "Russo? I thought his name was Moretti?" He turned back to his desk and reached out for a stack of file folders off to the right side. He flipped through them for a moment, pulled one out, and opened it in his hands. After skimming the document for a moment he said, "Yeah; Vito Moretti."

"There is also a Vito Russo at that establishment."

Andre shrugged and placed the folders back on his desk. "Oh... then I guess I don't know him? I only dealt with the owner. What's this about?"

Ryan stepped forward and pulled Russo's DMV photo out of his leather-bound file holder. "Vito Russo was found murdered last night and we thought you might have seen something. Did you drop off a... blender...?" Ryan's voice drifted off as Andre's expression paled and he gazed down at the photo as though it were an image of the grim reaper and not a run-of-the-mill driver's license photo.

"Wha...no. No, that's Vito Moretti. It's... he's... o-oh my god."

As the man sank down into his desk chair and cradled his head in his hands, Ryan gazed over at his partner, who nodded. Clearing his throat and turning back to their newest suspect, Ryan said, "I think you'd better come down to the precinct with us, Mr. Novak."


	5. Chapter 5

" _...nothing you do is right! Nothing! Nothing ever! You have ruin my business you filthy crook! If you ever set foot in here again, I'll kill you. You hear me Novak? I slit your throat and you never be seen again!"_

"Every day," Andre rasped out as he pressed the "pause" button on his cell phone's display screen. "I got a message like that every damned day. Sometimes twice a day. He'd call me, leave a message, call me right back and leave another. Do you hear that? He literally threatened my life!"

Sniffing back tears, the impressively statured man looked much smaller, particularly in the stringent light of interrogation. He tapped a few buttons on his phone to close the voicemail and turn off the speaker feature and then leaned back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest. "Who even does that?"

"Why didn't you bring this to the police?" Ryan asked calmly.

Andre shrugged and lowered his chin. "I couldn't. My... my boss told me to just give the customer what he wanted, but Vito was relentless. And sometimes his messages didn't even make sense. He called and left a message like this two days after submitting his order demanding to know when his equipment would be delivered. Two days! It takes four weeks to ship from the factories, but he called me and cursed me out and I'd never even met the guy! Who does that?"

"So... you decided to kill him?" Esposito asked.

Andre unfolded his arms and leaned forward, tapping his right index finger against the stainless steel surface. "You don't understand — I get calls like this all the time. Not — not threatening my life; only Vito did that, but angry calls. I get blamed for everything, even if it's not my fault. That broken refrigerator? Not my fault; the factory shipped it that way. And it wasn't my fault we couldn't deliver it that day either — the truck got held up; I can't control that. So I decided to take the mixer as a peace offering — he'd been calling me to bitch about that, too."

The suspect cleared his throat and leaned his left hand on the table beside his right. "I got there and saw that he was even younger than me, which pissed me off. Who did this guy think he was? But then... then he was being so nice — I couldn't take it! I thought he was messing with me, toying with me until he snapped, so I got into his face. I just... I couldn't deal with it anymore."

After thirty seconds of silence hung in the air, Ryan encouraged the confession with, "What happened then?"

"I pushed him... too hard, I guess. I don't know — I never meant to kill him, honest I didn't." Andre lifted his gaze and stared directly at Ryan as he folded his hands together. "I didn't mean to kill anyone. He... he just stumbled back and... god, it was the wrong guy — the wrong guy but I just... I just wanted him to stop..."

With a heavy sigh, Ryan slid a blank notepad and pen across the table and said, "Write out your confession. Sign it. And we'll contact the DA."

* * *

"Sad," Castle concluded from his position behind the mirrored two-way glass. "Russo had to pay the price for his brother-in-law being an endless jerk."

His wife looked over at him with a wry smile. "Murder usually is sad, Castle."

"I know, but I would have felt less sad if that guy got the right Vito."

Kate hummed under her breath before exiting the observation room and running into her lead detectives. "Good work, guys."

"Thought you'd never crack this one," Castle teased from beside her.

While Esposito shot him a perturbed look, Ryan said, "Ah, thanks. We're going to work on the paperwork."

"Oh-ho and there's my cue to exit!" the writer announced. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Kate's cheek before asking, "You don't think you'll be late tonight, do you?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "I shouldn't be. Why?"

He winked at her. "You'll see."

"Castle..."

He grinned and began backing his way towards the hall. "See you later, honey!"

* * *

"Hey..."

"H-hey! Oh hi!" Esposito spluttered and failed completely at maintaining a casual exterior when Aragon stepped up beside his desk and surprised him. Fortunately, Ryan was still processing their latest killer's statement, and while he had paperwork of his own to work on, he did have a few minutes to talk to her.

Standing from his desk, Esposito nodded for Aragon to follow and walked casually towards a secluded hall where they could speak a bit more inconspicuously. "How are you?"

She folded her arms over her chest and gazed at him. "I think I should be asking you that."

"What do you mean?"

"I talked to Richie," she began, and Esposito felt his expression fall. "He said something about threatening you with his karate moves?"

"Um... yeah... he might have mentioned something about that."

She let out a breathy noise and shook her head. "Why didn't you say something?"

The detective shrugged and brushed his hand over the back of his neck. "I dunno. I mean... it was the first time we met and I wasn't sure if you wanted him to know we were officially dating and I just — I wasn't sure how to react, honestly."

She nodded. "I guess it's partially my fault. He did this once before so I should have seen it coming."

Esposito raised his eyebrow. "He's done this before?" If that was the case, then perhaps their relationship wasn't entirely doomed. Unless — crap — unless that was the reason Aragon's other relationship ended!

"Just once — the guy I was dating before you, actually. He just... he gets this super tough-guy attitude from his father and it comes off wrong sometimes. He really is a sweet kid and I promise he'll warm up to you but it, ah, might take a while? Sorry." She quickly apologized while grimacing.

He shook his head and rested a hand gently on her bicep. "No need to apologize — I get it. I definitely didn't expect us to be best friends right off the bat. As long as this doesn't make you want to stop seeing me, I'm fine with that."

She let out a breathy laugh. "Stop seeing you, Javi? Now why would I want to do that?" He gave a casual little shrug and then felt himself leaning in for a kiss until he realized just where they were. Crap — this whole being nothing more than coworkers in public was beginning to be a bit more of a problem, wasn't it? Perhaps it was time they went public, so to speak.

"Hey so maybe — and feel free to say no if you think it's too soon — but maybe do you think we should stop trying to hide this — us. I mean if Richie knows... and Ryan knows — unofficially. Maybe... what do you think?"

Her brow wrinkled and she glanced hesitantly back towards the bullpen. "I — I don't know. I'm still new and maybe Captain Beckett would-"

Esposito cut off her concerns with a laugh. "I don't think Captain Beckett has much room to say anything against our inter-office relationship given that she married hers."

Aragon looked at him pointedly. "Richard Castle never worked here."

"Tell him that!"

"Javi..."

Espo moved his hand to her waist and gave it a squeeze. "I'm telling you she won't care, but if you want to wait just a little longer, that's fine with me."

She gave it a moment of thought and then shook her head. "No, you're right; I don't want to hide this, so you can talk to her. I can, too, if she wants."

He bobbed his head. "It'll be fine, plus now's the best time to tell her since we just solved this case."

She smiled at him. "So dinner tonight?"

He squeezed her waist again. "I wouldn't miss it!"

* * *

Kate Beckett walked into her apartment to find her husband so busy in the kitchen that he didn't notice her entrance. Using this as an opportunity to get a sneak peek at whatever he was secretly preparing, she toed off her shoes by the door in order to stealthily move towards the kitchen — well, as stealthily as a large-bellied pregnant woman could.

Just a few feet away from the kitchen island, she paused, tilted her head, and attempted to process the scene before her. Seated atop the island all in a row were a mixing bowl, a cutting board that was devoid of anything save the dusting of flour on top, a cutting board that had a tissue-box-sized white object on top of it, and a medium-sized metal box she recognized to be an at-home fryer.

Okay — her husband had purchased a new, smaller fryer (because the one he used for turkeys must not have been sufficient — for whatever reason); that was not all that shocking, but she couldn't figure out what—

Oh.

Oh no. Oh, no.

It was not until Castle turned around and she was able to see the large pink cartoon pig face in the center of his apron that it all hit her: the fryer, the flour-covered mixing board, the block of mysterious white substance. Thirty-six hours earlier her husband had proudly spoken about a bakery serving bacon-fat donuts and now it appeared he was trying to make his own version of them with — dear god — a block of bacon fat?

Fighting to keep her stomach from rolling in her gut, Kate approached the counter and grimaced at the object on the cutting board she hoped he would promptly throw out after using it. "Babe? Are you trying to die of a heart attack before the baby comes?"

Grinning, the writer didn't miss a beat. "A little bacon fat never hurt anyone, Beckett!"

"I really don't think that's true."

He shrugged in response and then turned back to the dough he was mixing up in their Kitchen-Aid.

"Please don't tell me a recipe exists for this on the Internet?"

"Not exactly. I figured I'd just make a regular donut recipe and then fry them like this instead of in canola oil."

Sliding onto the closest counter stool she sighed out, "I see." Really, she should have seen it coming. Even though their case was closed, it would still probably take another day to release the bakery back to its owner. Unfortunately for Vito that most likely meant he would miss his Saturday opening date, thus there would be no hope for Castle to sample the real bacon-fried thing, so she should have guessed he'd try to concoct his own.

"Good evening Darlings!"

Kate glanced towards the front of the apartment just as her mother-in-law sashayed inside, jacket and oversized purse draped over one arm. "Hi Martha. Haven't seen you in a little while."

"Oh, well you know me, Dear," she paused to give Kate a kiss on the cheek and pat her belly lovingly. "Always on the run. How's our little future diva doing?"

"Just fine. What are-"

Kate's question was interrupted by her husband cooing, "OOooh — so gross!" as he dropped cut-up bits of bacon fat into the fryer. She curled her lips in displeasure.

"Richard, what on earth are you doing?"

He looked up at her with the half-mischievous, half-gleeful expression Kate imagined was similar to the one he'd worn many times in his youth. "Frying donuts in bacon fat; wanna try one?"

"I'd like to live to see my next birthday so: no."

The writer's shoulders dropped. "Why is no one else excited about this? I should have called Alexis."

Kate rolled her eyes and turned back to Martha, who was digging through her lemon-yellow purse. "Katherine, my son called me earlier to tell me about that little knit police uniform he purchased — which must just be adorable, I can't wait to see it — anyway, I hope you don't mind, but I made some calls and got the names of some photographers who are very good and also do newborn photo shoots." From the depths of her bag she pulled out a folded sheet of paper and held it out. "Here you go: names, phone numbers, and websites."

"Oh!" Kate's face brightened and she unfolded the sheet to see four different names listed. "Thank you so much; I'll definitely check these out."

The elder woman stroked her shoulder. "No problem. I'm just so happy to-"

"Ah! Geez!" The writer yelped and cursed before dumping a swollen lump of dough on the counter and shaking out his fingers, presumably after burning himself with the oil — ah, melted fat. A slight blush creeping onto his cheeks, he looked at each of the women before confessing, "This, ah, might be harder than I thought it would be."

"Don't worry, babe." His wife smiled at him. "We weren't going to eat them anyway."

* * *

 _Episode beta work by acertainzest, amtepe, and ivyandtwine._

 _Castle Season 9 is produced by Team Planet and the writing team of Castle Season 9_ _. Executive Producer is acertainzest._

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